Make Me Proud
by washed away again
Summary: A backwards look at the complicated relationship of Severus Snape and Minerva McGonagall.
1. Chapter 1

**AN: I do not own any of these characters or themes or details, etc. **

**This story will tell the lust/love/loyalty story of Severus and Minerva backwards. This is thus the final scene in that story.**

"Minny."

"You know I hate when you call me that Severus."

Her back was still to him, ramrod straight and stiff. He could practically see the tension rolling off her in waves. As much as she professed to hate the nickname, usually she would give in to him when he used it.

"Minerva we've been through this, you know what I have to do," his fists clenched uselessly at his sides. He wasn't even sure he would bring his wand to this final meeting, knowing it wouldn't be much use. Still, he would feel naked without his wand. And he liked to think his true birth, when his life really began was when he was given his wand. He would want his life to end only with his losing it.

"I don't see why you should have to," she sniffed, straightening her ramrod posture even further. Her arms were crossed around her chest, seemingly in defiance, but really her fingers gripped her arms tightly to keep herself from shaking, to keep herself as always in control.

"It's all Sirius' fault! You should be blaming him," Snape said, wanting it to sound at least partially like a joke, although as always his voice couldn't help but be bitter when speaking of his youth's enemy.

"Sirius is dead," her voice rang with the finality of that death as she whirled to face him, "And don't tell me who I should be blaming. We all have to make choices Severus, between what is right and what is easy. And you have never chosen the easy path. And so I am now asking you to choose what is easy and run before it's too late."

Snape shook his head and sat down in McGonagall's armchair heavily.

"You think you can run from the Dark Lord?" His voice was bitingly sarcastic and Minerva blushed at her own foolishness.

She shrugged, "Excuse me for not wanting to watch you be squashed like a bug under his foot. At least have the decency after all these years to die somewhere where I don't have to watch."

Snape snickered and ran a hand through his long greasy hair. Minerva rolled her eyes and crossed the room to him. She re-crossed her arms over her chest and stared at him expectantly.

"But won't you want to weep over my dead body," he suggested mockingly.

"I do not weep," Minerva sneered, "I sniffle."

This time Snape laughed outright and jumped out of the chair and wrapped his arms around his favorite Transfiguration professor. She resisted his embrace for a moment and then gratefully wrapped her arms around him. This past year he had lost weight and he was thinner than ever, and he now reminded her of the gangly young man who had first started work at Hogwarts sixteen years earlier. The man she had pitied, become friends with, begun an affair with, and eventually fallen in love with.

"I'm going to miss you, Minerva," he whispered into her ear. She felt tears prick at the corner of her eyes and her throat swelling so much she could hardly stand the pain. She nodded and pressed her lips to his neck.

"I never thought it would come to this," she choked out, trying to keep the tears inside.

"I did," he replied simply, stroking her back.

She pulled back and held his face in her hands.

"As awful as it is, part of me is hoping Potter will fail just so I'll get to keep you here."

"Unfortunately, despite his serious lack of talent or any semblance of a work-ethic, Potter usually manages quite well."

"I guess this is it then," she agreed, and pressed her lips to his. The past two years she had felt uncomfortable with her intimacies with Snape in a way she hadn't felt before. Her injury during Umbridge's reign of terror had aged her more than she would have liked to admit, and in many ways she now felt and looked like an old woman. She had always been fifteen years his senior, but now she looked it. She had been surprised that he had come to her as soon as he could after the attack, even as he himself was in grave danger. She was further surprised that he still could find her beautiful even now with her body as it was. Then again, Severus Snape had always been a man to surprise a great many people.

She ran her hands up his arms and pushed his robes off his shoulders and then began unbuttoning his shirt. He stilled her hands and looked down into her eyes.

"We don't have time for that," he murmured apologetically. He knew she couldn't say the words she wanted, and now he wasn't allowing her to say them with her actions either.

She nodded briskly and stepped away from him. He refastened the three buttons she had gotten undone before he stopped her, and straightened his robes.

"All right then. Be a good boy. Run off to You-Know-Who," she commanded with a dismissive wave of her hand.

"Minerva," he said with some emotion she couldn't place. It would have sounded like desperation in someone else's voice, but in Snape's nasal tones it was hard to identify.

She smiled as best she could, feeling the knot in her throat tightening with every second. He had to leave, and soon, before she completely fell apart.

"Go. Make me proud."

He nodded and turned. She would replay that moment in which he walked out of her office many times in years to come. At times she would regret that she never said 'I love you', and at times she would be grateful for it. At times she would hate herself for not going with him somehow, either as a cat, or patronus, or some invisibility spell she would have hoped Voldemort wouldn't have uncloaked. At other times she would be glad she didn't go watch him die. She would wish she could have given him a proper burial and everyone would have venerated him as a hero. And she would alternately be glad that his grave remained unmarked, a sanctuary for her alone, and thus his presence still lingered without all the usual artificial trappings of death. But always her heart would break when she remembered how he had walked away and hadn't looked back.


	2. Chapter 2

**AN: This scene occurs during the middle of the 6****th**** book. Snape is in Dumbledore's confidence about his impending death, McGonagall is not. **

A knock came at his door. Snape reluctantly set aside yet another of his students' tedious essays and peeped through his keyhole. His gaze was met with a wall of tartan. He smirked. I could use a bit of fun tonight, he thought, and threw open the door.

"Severus," she greeted him with a cool nod and passed him into the room.

"Minerva," he replied with a little bow and shut the door. He hoped this was _that_ kind of visit. And that the papers she was carrying was for formality only.

"You appear to be making better progress than I was," she nodded from the pile of ungraded papers in her arms to the pile of parchment on the desk already covered in Snape's red ink scribbles.

He shrugged, "Have to pass the time somehow. You haven't come to see me in awhile."

She settled herself into the armchair across from his desk.

"I rather thought you could venture your way out of the dungeons and come visit me."

"Me, voluntarily out of the dungeons? There would be a riot."

She snorted derisively and took out her first paper to grade.

"This is Longbottom's," she commented, "bound to be a treat."

"Minerva, you should be ashamed of yourself," he chided her, making a violent strike with his red ink.

She blushed, "Yes, I really should. Neville has some good qualities; his writing is not one of them. If I had a sickle for every mistaken 'their' and 'they're'…"

"You wouldn't have to push papers here anymore," Snape finished for her idly.

"You know I love Hogwarts," she corrected.

"I never said you didn't," he replied evenly, still scribbling away in the margins in red, "Still, a change of pace."

She shrugged, "I wouldn't take it if they offered it to me on a silver platter."

"Still, you can't teach Transfiguration forever, Minny."

"And why on Earth can't I?"

Snape grimaced. He had said too much. Minerva knew Dumbledore's hand was serious but she didn't know the half of it. She didn't even know a third of it.

"Because," he said with a wicked grin as an idea struck him, "You'll be sacked for sure when they find out about your long-standing affair with a former student."

"Severus, everyone in England is a former student of mine."

"Yes, but you're not shagging any of them, now are you?"

She smiled, "All right, I see I'm not going to get any work done here tonight. Somebody's got dirty thoughts on the brain and I still would like a cup of tea before I go to bed. Good night then, Severus."

She got up to go, only half-meaning to actually leave when he was abruptly beside her.

"How many stockings have you got under there tonight?" He gestured to her robe.

"You know I get cold, it's no reason to mock an old woman."

"Well then, old woman, how many?" He took her stack of papers and books from her arms and set them gently on his desk.

"Count them yourself."

He smiled, "I was hoping you'd suggest that."

He pulled on the tie of her red tartan robe and opened it. She was wearing one of her high buttoned white nightgowns that went all the way down to the floor. He started gathering up the billowy fabric in his fists and he grinned when he saw her many layers of stockings underneath.

"How many layers do you have here, Minny?"

"Three," she said with as much dignity as she could manage. He chuckled.

"Let's see here," he murmured, pushing the nightgown to the side and running his fingers up her legs, "We have a layer of wool-knit…very sexy."

She giggled as he removed her slippers and rolled the wool stockings down and off.

"And next…some sort of striped cotton," he said with horror when he beheld the tall black and orange striped socks underneath. He hastily removed those with a disgusted shudder.

"Finally," he sighed with satisfaction, "Just one layer left."

His fingertips grazed her legs, now only swathed in the blank nylon tights she wore under everything. He knelt to remove them as slowly as he could, ordering himself to breathe with every inch. It had been weeks, she had been distant, he had been afraid, and he had been alone. She could have no idea how alone he was now, he thought. She shivered as the cold air hit her legs; at least that's what she told herself about why she was shivering.

"Why Professor," he whispered, gazing up at her as his fingers caressed between her legs, finding her already damp and, as he stroked her, he felt her begin to swell with anticipation. She felt her heart ache with loneliness sharply, as always, just before it was about to be appeased.

Her head spun and she took a deep breath, running her fingers through his long greasy hair.

"I'm going to go down on you, and I beg you not to use magic," he whispered, his voice working magic on her as always and she felt her knees begin to give as he pushed her panties aside.

"I won't," she panted as his fingers worked her more feverishly.

"And you will let me do to you whatever I want?"

She smiled and shook her head slowly, "You know I will."

He nodded and stood, sweeping an arm under her knees and gathering her up into his arms. He hastily opened his bedroom door and tossed her down onto the bed. She stretched out, making herself comfortable while he began to undress.

"We're actually going to make it into the bedroom this time?" Minerva asked jokingly.

"I thought we should hit that area eventually," Snape replied casually, and then leaned down to whisper in her ear, "Besides, I can't get any work done at my desk when I've had you writhing under me on top of it."


	3. Chapter 3

**AN: The end of summer before the beginning of Half-Blood Prince.**

Snape was going to be the Defense Against the Dark Arts professor. And he hadn't even had the decency to tell her the "good" news himself. She'd had to find out from Dumbledore at the first staff meeting of the year, and she now sat stewing in the sunlight streaming through the window behind her, waiting for Dumbledore to finish babbling on about nonsense. How's that for an insult, to not even be informed of a basic life decision? Granted, things had been strained between her and her sometimes lover of late, mostly because Snape was so overwhelmed by the demands of the Dark Lord, and at times Minerva found that even she herself was afraid of her former student. The darkness in him which had been long dormant was rising again, and as it reared its ugly head, so did his violent streak, which she had allowed herself to be the brunt of only once. Still, at the very least they had always been friends.

"Minerva," Snape politely called after her as she whirled out of the staff room when Dumbledore finally concluded the meeting. Always graceful, she reminded herself as she turned to face him, always poised.

"Yes, Professor Snape?" She replied with the utmost calm and professionalism for her audience. Not that anyone was noticing, all the teachers were busily gossiping amongst themselves.

"A word, if you have a moment."

"Of course," she agreed, and followed him out of the staff room into the dim, filtered sunlight of the hallway. She so loved Hogwarts in the summer, it rather felt like her own castle, and how many people could call a castle their home?

"Would you care for a walk?" He asked with a nod to the beautiful day outside the window at the end of the corridor.

She smiled in amusement, she could easily count the number of times she'd actually seen Snape out of doors and in the sunlight no less, and every one of those times was only for the duration of a Quidditch match, or for a rare walk that she had dragged him on. Not surprising some of the Muggle-borns thought Snape was at least part vampire.

"Yes, I could use some fresh air," she agreed, and strode ahead of him down the hallway, making sure to swing her hips, although more in anger to punctuate her walk than in seduction.

He didn't speak again until they were exiting through the greenhouses onto the sloping grass hillside.

"Minny, I was going to tell you as soon as I could."

"Tell me this is going to be your last year at Hogwarts, you mean?" She snapped at him. He reached for her hand but she yanked it away, "I'm not in the mood, Severus."

"I'm becoming the Defense Against the Dark Arts teacher, not selling my soul to the Devil!"

"You might as well be. The position's cursed; you'll end up in hell. If you don't know that you're more naïve than James was, thinking you can save the world. Well, you can't."

"What does saving the world have to do with this? I'm a teacher for Christ's sake!"

"Then start acting like one. Start making responsible decisions for once instead of acting like a selfish child. You will never avenge Lily's death!"

Snape snarled and flung his hand across Minerva's face, striking with all of his might. She stumbled but caught herself before she actually fell to the ground. She looked down for a moment, waiting for his apology or rapid-fire list of excuses. When she heard none she looked back up at him, her cheek flaming red, accusing him. His face was the opposite of what she expected. He was shaking and there were tears streaming down his face.

"I was going to tell you…that Dumbledore's asked me…he's asked me," his voice shook too badly to continue and he covered his face in his hands.

"Poor thing," she shushed gently, opening her arms and folding him into them. He might be a violent ass-hole but he seemed like such a lost child sometimes, and Dumbledore really had been asking a lot of him for such a long time.

"It's too terrible, Minny, I can't tell you," he whispered into her hair.

"You don't have to tell me anything. Just try to stay alive, would you," she joked, and ruffled his greasy hair. She took a deep breath, sighed it out, and released him and held him at arm's length.

"Are you ready to walk then? I hear Hagrid's growing some very ugly new plants on the far side of the lake," she suggested.

"Minerva if you're suggesting…"

"Pfw," she laughed, "It took you five years to catch on to _that_ suggestion."

"And boy, am I ever glad I did. I didn't know how many more actual cups of tea and walks I could stand before I finally got the drift. I just didn't see you being much for the student teacher relationships."

"You're the only one I would make an exception for. That should make you feel special," she patted him on the cheek affectionately.

"I'm deeply touched. Shall we?" He offered his arm and she gratefully took it. He knew it was still difficult for her to walk long stretches without her cane, and how much it embarrassed her that she was not recovering as quickly as she had hoped. He was happy to pretend to be unexpectedly chivalrous after all these years in order to help her maintain her façade.

"Let's walk," she agreed, their fight, as well as Snape's almost confession, already quite out of her mind.

"Yes, and take a look at those wretched flowers everyone's been going on about."


	4. Chapter 4

**AN: In St. Mungo's as Minerva's recovering from her attack, set towards the end of Order of the Phoenix obviously. **

"Minerva, I got here as soon as I could."

"Albus," she greeted wearily, rolling over on her hospital bed to face the doorway. Albus stood there, looking younger and happier than he had in a long time. Clearly his exile had suited him. His eyes were twinkling down at her, and she once again wished that he was her actual father, and then remembered how much pain killer potion she was on and tried to make her mind follow more conventional thought lines.

"Minerva, you look positively awful," he said cheerfully, and came to sit beside her on her bed. He patted her head gently and stroked her hair away from her face.

"Don't flatter me, Albus." She grimaced as she tried to sit up.

"No, no, don't try to sit up. The healer told me your ribs aren't healing as well as he'd hoped," he gently pushed her back down and she happily cuddled back down under her blankets.

"Good to know I'm finally succumbing to old age. What's your secret?"

He winked at her over his half-moon spectacles, "I think you know that's a chapter in my memoirs you won't get to see for hopefully a very long time."

"How is…how is Hogwarts?" She asked tiredly.

"I should rather be asking you the same question," he replied.

She snorted, "Do you want me to rest or do you want me to rant about that wretched old…wretched old tea cozy?"

Dumbledore chuckled and patted her on the head again,

"Well that I can answer to. The 'tea cozy' had quite the scare in the Forbidden Forest and has been quite altered since. She has returned to the Ministry with her tail between her legs."

"Haha," she laughed contentedly, "Tea cozy with a tail between its legs."

"I see someone's been enjoying their pain killer potion."

She nodded, "When I was a child and I had appendicitis and I had the surgery they gave me morphine after. This is way better than that."

"One of the many advantages to being a witch my dear Minerva."

She nodded. She had never regretted leaving behind her Muggle upbringing, and had not been in Muggle society since her father's funeral, now many years ago. But the memories were still fond to recall, especially the toys she had grown up with, the playgrounds, the elementary school years.

"Severus wanted to be here," Dumbledore said quietly, bringing her joy-trip through memory lane to a screeching halt.

"What?" Minerva asked. Her head was filled with cotton balls but she thought Dumbledore had said Severus had wanted to come see her, and the thought made her smile.

"Severus said that he wanted to come but that you might not want him here."

Her smile died on her lips.

"Is this true Minerva?"

She shrugged sadly, and Dumbledore thought she looked for all the world like a sad teenager lost in love, no different from one of the students.

"Did something happen between you?"

She laughed bitterly, "You could say that. Once Umbridge took over, and I couldn't control myself…he didn't want anything to do with me. And then…it's not important. Nothing that you should concern yourself with."

Dumbledore scrutinized her stalwart expression for a moment more and then sighed and clapped his hands, "Well, whatever it was he certainly seemed sorry about it. And gathering your expression he rightly should be I would imagine. I should get back to the castle. We are going to ceremoniously take down all those ridiculous educational decrees."

"Wish I could be there," she said so wistfully that Dumbledore laughed out loud.

"You'll be right as rain by tomorrow the healer tells me."

"Right as rain, haha," she laughed again.

"All right, I think that's my cue to leave," Dumbledore said, leaned down and kissed her on the head, "Poppy and Pomona will be over tomorrow afternoon to bring you home."

She nodded, her eyes drifting closed. She tried to replay childhood scenes in her mind, but now all she could think of was Snape. The Snape from years ago, sullen, resentful, and utterly adorable and vulnerable. She wondered where he had gone. And where the woman who had seduced him had gone. She missed her too.

There she stood, like nothing had happened. She was limping, walking stiffly with a cane, carrying that blasted ancient carpet bag of hers, and daring, as usual to undermine his authority with the students. And he had never been gladder to see the infuriating woman in his whole life. He could hardly form a reasonable thought besides, 'thank God', and 'she's all right', and now she was sending Crabbe and Goyle off with her carpetbag, and Harry and Draco were wandering away in opposite directions, and now it was just the two of them in the corridor. And he was like a schoolboy again. He had already tried to apologize a hundred times for what he had done to her a few months before, and he knew the apologies meant nothing to her. It wasn't that he wasn't sorry, he was, of course he was sorry. He was a thousand times sorry. But he just knew that an apology could never make it right, and so they always sounded false even to his own ears. But here she was; here was his chance to say it again.

"Severus," she said kindly, "How are you?"

"I'm…I'm sorry," he said.

"I know," she said, again in that irritatingly kind and compassionate voice, "I knew you were sorry even as it was happening. And I've realized I can't forgive you. It's simply not in my nature. But I will try to forget, and we can be friends again."

She held out her bony hand, her facial expression dead calm, her eyes steady, watching his, calculating his reaction, just as he was calculating hers. Cautious as always, he hesitantly he took her hand and shook it. Dying to make her offer of her hand mean something, dying to make their touch reminiscent somehow, dying to make her love him again. But his face remained as impassive as ever. She felt anger surge against him when she saw that he was unmoved as always, even now. He released her hand coldly and stepped back.

"There," she said, "I'm going to unpack. I'll see you at the feast." She nodded to him and turned to go, as stately as a cat, even with her cane.

"Damn it," he muttered. He had lost his only friend…pretty much his only friend ever. And there would be no forgiveness for him. But he already knew that. He'd known that since he'd stepped through Hogwarts' door sixteen years ago and decided to fight against the Dark Lord. And more importantly, he'd known that since Lily Evans died. And now he'd pushed away the only woman who had ever made him forget that he was damned.


End file.
